Tag Archives: fiction

Stage 34: The problem.

A middle aged wealthy Man sits in his 4BHk apartment in Mumbai watching the presidential elections on Fox news. ‘Ah’ he thinks to himself, ‘What a time it is to be alive… a woman contending to run the most powerful nation on the planet. Equality has truly been achieved’ he says as his son watches item songs in the next room.

The Man glancing at the grandfather clock, shouts for his evening tea. His wife realising the maid is attending her 10 year old daughter’s wedding in a nearby village, scurries to make the tea herself.

He switches channels mechanically as a girl in a neighboring building is being dragged into a room, her underwear ripped off and her genitals being “circumcised” to rid of her unnatural sexual urges.

The man impatiently inquires as to what is taking the tea so long, incessantly stating how late it is, as a woman down the street waits for her impending bus which carries a predator and his natural sexual urges.

Somewhere in another shanty town a boy dumps his books and ditches school to play cricket with his friends while his older sister prepares meals for her family, having giving up attempting to read the unfamiliar markings on her brother’s textbooks a long time ago. The man back in Mumbai finally receives his Chai; ‘Ah’ he exclaims, ‘you forgot the sugar’.



There is a problem in India. A serious one.

There are problems in India. Serious ones.

And the only reason they aren’t being recognised is the misconception that equality has been achieved. Comments like ‘ Hey, even the West hasn’t had a female president dude, but we have’ help people like me identify the problem; the problem lies within the fact that we compare our battle with the most popular one but in reality we are multitudes of phases behind them. In the West problems like the wage gap are addressed by feminists but in India we cannot simply skip over and address that same problem when most women aren’t even educated enough to do those jobs.

The problem lies within all of India; each religion, socioeconomic group, age, gender and occupation. However if the most educated, most privileged of those people fail to recognise it then how can we expect anyone else to.

featured image from http://www.dnaindia.com

Stage 22: Unspoken bonds (Part 2..)

Its repetitive isn’t it? The game of heartbreak

Yet we all still play. Participate with full enthusiasm, impetus and with no plan to learn from our mistakes. We all know the outcome, yet we are still hurt when it happens.

Even the strongest humans are susceptible to this disease. The disease that has taken a toll on countless, unsuspecting, innocent victims, and their lives. The implacable disease of Love.

A drug, an addiction,

Something that you can live without but forget how to live without.

The concept of the game? Oh its very simple. You either play or get played. Its very rare to find a friendly match where the two sides are not competing to destroy one another.

The end result? Complete obliteration of the defending team.

Why is this simple game with simple rules so hard though? The answer to that is well… simple.

When things are easy, we tend to use all that extra room to over-complicate stuff. Therefore everyone ends up playing a different game; employing their own strategies and bending the unspoken rules to their own liking.

Another weapon the brave soldiers (that enter this brutal war) are equipped with is the ‘blinker’ ( the blinders horses wear, to prevent them from being frightened by potential harm). However, when our brave soldier puts on this metaphorical blinker, he restricts himself to a view of only the potential harm.

And once this blinker is on.. BOOM.

Total Annihilation.

Stage 20: Travel Diaries and Childhood memories

The emerald tinged waters berated the vibrancy of the violet skies all while the gentle breeze blew with a fierce grace.

The house-boat swayed gently in the deep narrow river, safely encased in a thick rain-forest carpeted with luscious floors of green.

An inquisitive child peered over the starboard of her temporary home, into the mesmerizing abyss of the waters. Her mother hovering over her, motivated by her cautiousness and interest in the welfare of the child.

However, unaware of the impending danger and the vastness of the river, the little girl was lost.

Daydreaming was her forte.

She was a Dreamer.

‘I wonder how many me’s it would take to drink all this water’

‘I wonder how fish drink water. Do fish drink water?’

‘So if fish drink water and then also excrete this pee, but remain in the same waters, are they drinking the-‘ ‘DINNER’S READY’

And just like that, the attention shifts towards something greater than fish urine. Food.

The aroma of the lemon zest reverberated off of the fried fish, engulfing the lower deck immediately.

‘But you love fish. Why wont you eat now?’ ‘What do you mean it’s dirty? WHAT DO YOU MEAN ITS COVERED IN PEE?”I’m not letting you leave this table until you eat that fish, you fussy child.Now eat.’

And there they remained.At the table. Until the mother’s heart softened at the unspoken plea of her stubborn child and the rice and curry was brought out again.